


Put a Ring On It

by tormalyne



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Case Fic, M/M, with a dash of romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 10:34:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18092675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tormalyne/pseuds/tormalyne
Summary: An undercover mission requires a mask of a different sort than what Six usually wears. It’s a toss-up whether high society or Siete will snap the fraying thread of his patience first.Down on one knee, peering up at Six with what Siete clearly thought was a charming smile, that idiotic grin, and now the box sat propped open in Siete’s palm with theringin full view, and Six was definitely leaving—“Wait, wait, Six, don’t go, we really do have a mission!”





	Put a Ring On It

The first thing Six did when Siete brought the mission to him was throw the box back in his face.

The little velvet box bounced off Siete’s cheek, clipped his shoulder guard, caught a fold of his cloak, and tumbled to the floor, landing with a dull thud. Siete stared at the innocuous little box, heaved a woeful sigh, and nudged it with the toe of his boot. The bastard hadn’t even tried to dodge.

“You didn’t even open it,” Siete said. He knelt and scooped the box up. Six’s fingers twitched with the urge to throw something else, or adjust his mask, or just turn and walk away from the whole farce.

The urge intensified when Siete stayed kneeling. Down on one knee, peering up at Six with what Siete clearly thought was a charming smile, that idiotic grin, and now the box sat propped open in Siete’s palm with the _ring_ in full view, and Six was definitely leaving—

“Wait, wait, Six, don’t go, we really do have a mission!”

Six’s boots rang as he came to a sharp stop, loud after his habitual silent steps. The circle of Siete’s fingers burned on the sliver of bare skin he’d somehow managed to find, a living brand.

Only the weight of everything he owed Siete kept Six from shaking off the hand on his wrist and stalking away, mission be damned. But his ears still flicked back. He took a deep, bracing breath. He turned back to Siete and folded one arm over his chest. Beneath his mask, he glowered, letting the red glow through the eyes convey his displeasure with this whole sorry mess.

“Why not Song?” he finally grit out. “Someone who’s actually _good_ at talking to people? _Anyone else?_ ”

“Come on, it has to be you,” Siete said, sing-song. From the dopey grin on his face, the one that said Siete was having too much damn _fun_ , Six couldn’t tell if that was the truth or one of Siete’s deflections.

He glared for a long, silent moment. Siete didn’t flinch, just grinned back, relaxed and easy but with a steel edge underneath that meant something else was going on, hidden behind the foolishness he wore as a second cloak. Which meant Siete was serious about this. That having Six along was important somehow, even if Six couldn’t see _how_.

With ill grace, Six gave in.

“This is your most idiotic plan yet.”

***

“And this,” Siete said with a twinkling smile as he wrapped an arm around Six’s waist, “is my boyfriend, Six.” Siete’s arm was warm. His cufflinks, pressing coolly through the needlessly thin fabric of Six’s fine shirt, were entirely decorative, without even a hint of poisoned needle to be found. Six stayed very, very still so he wouldn’t give in to the instinct to shove Siete off and ruin their cover in the middle of the fancy party they’d spent the last week making arrangements to sneak into, but it was a near thing. His elbow rested an inch from Siete’s ribs. He’d only need one swift jab.

The rented suit hung stiff and heavy, nothing like the comfortable armor he habitually wore. It offered no protection, it clung in unfamiliar ways that made Siete stare in a manner that convinced Six he looked like a fool, and right now, it did absolutely nothing to provide any barrier between him and Siete. He could smell Siete’s aftershave and whatever scented soap Siete had showered with in their shared room. Siete was far too close.

Just _one_ jab.

“We met through a mutual friend, during one of my father’s business conferences.” They were posing as gentlemen of leisure, young heirs with too much time on their hands. Rich, bored, and powerful thanks to their breeding. It stung, but Six hadn’t said anything. It was for the mission. “He’s very shy.” 

Six barely refrained from growling.

At least no one could see the snarl beneath his mask. Not _his_ mask – a borrowed mask, covered in ridiculous, glittering sequins and semi-precious stones that fit in with all the other gaudy costumes for the masquerade ball, but it was _a_ mask, and that was what mattered. And no one could see him baring his teeth at Siete’s dramatics behind it.

“He’s precious,” one of the women they were talking with twittered. “Such a darling! You’ll have to come have couples brunch with us tomorrow and meet my sweetheart, I’m sure he’d help your Six dear to open right up.”

Six could feel the shaking way Siete held in a laugh, the full-body tremble that ran through him, transmitted to Six from their closeness, their sides pressed together, the damn arm around his waist.

The grand ballroom was enormous, enough to hold all the hundreds of wealthy, important people who’d traveled from the far corners of the skydom, lit with warm golden light that filled every arch of the high ceilings. And still, Six suddenly felt as though the walls were warping overhead, the space that had moments before been so cavernous closing in. As though he was trapped by the milling throngs of people, gilded and dazzling in their soft, ruffled evening dress, unarmed and defenseless and utterly unaware that Six had no need of the knives and claws he’d left in his room to slay them all, and still caging him in, their voices suddenly magnified in a crash of sound, all their stares pinned on him. On where Siete’s arm rested about his waist.

Beside him, Siete subtly shifted his weight. He didn’t look away from the chattering woman and her circle of courtiers, but for just a moment his fingers rested lightly on Six’s elbow. A barely-there touch, fleeting, gone a second later, but it was enough.

Six took a deep, slow breath. The room expanded again, the walls straightening back to their proper height, the din receding, the crowd’s attention wandering away. There was only Siete’s arm again, loose and as unrestricting as possible while marking them out as distinctly _together_ , the whole point of this mockery of a mission.

The grating laughter of Siete’s conversation partner cut through the moment of relief. She was saying her goodbyes, drawing in her satellites, holding her fan to her mouth and promising that her father’s festivities would surely have delights suitable for anyone, even the most recalcitrant of guests—talking about him, Six realized, and managed to incline his head, hoping she took his stiffness as formality to his host instead of his night-long irritation.

“Nice lady,” Siete said, once she’d swept away in a cloud of skirts and hangers-on. The tiniest whiff of her perfume lingered after her, oddly heavy and unpleasant for a woman’s scent, something familiar about it that Six couldn’t quite put his finger on. “You can only tell a little that her pop’s the guy in charge of all this.” This, the business conglomerate they’d come to investigate. The strange rumors, unease on the wind, the possibility of a skydom crumbling if the corporate alliances that kept its marketplaces flourishing with coin, goods, and food getting to the people who needed them, vanishing – enough to warrant the Eternals intervening.

Six grunted. But no, that merited a real response. The mission, after all.

“I wouldn’t say nice. And it’s strange that someone so important wouldn’t be attended by her lover at a party like this, isn’t it?”

“Definitely strange,” Siete agreed, glancing after their departed hostess. “There are stories all over the skydom of how madly in love the _beau_ is. The gaggle of ladies in waiting won’t make up for how he’s abandoned her with the gossip-mongers, and she’s smart enough to know it.”

Before Six could offer his opinion on that, Siete turned to him, smiling far too wide. He stepped back, letting his arm fall from Six’s waist only to extend it in palm-up invitation. Horrifyingly, there was again a twinkle in his eye. Beneath his mask, Six bristled. There was still time, he only needed that one swift jab to head off whatever was about to happen. Whatever Siete planned that was filling him with this crawling sense of dread— But the mission. He waited.

“But!” Siete said with far too much cheer, “We’ve got a brunch date with the happy couple, so I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it all tomorrow. In the meantime, won’t you do _your_ lover the honor of a dance?”

Six gave in. He left Siete doubled over and gently wheezing, feeling the satisfying echo of the punch tingling through his bare knuckles, and stalked down the hall towards their room. Siete would find his way back on his own soon enough.

Six hadn’t hit him that hard.

***

Brunch was an agonizingly mundane affair. Served in the family rose garden, with the sweet smell of the flowers hanging cloyingly in the air, the meal was more an excuse to catch up on the most scandalous gossip from the party the night before than a slaking of hunger. And yet the food was as extravagant, if more subtly so, than the glitz and glamor of the ball had been. This was an equal show of the family’s wealth and power, a reminder of their status. That the conglomerate’s star was rising still.

At least Six didn’t have to wear a suit, but it was harder to explain the half-mask (without the gaudy stones) that he’d tied on.

“Like I said, he’s shy,” Siete said with an impervious smile to anyone who asked, and Six left the explanations to him. He had more important things on his mind than the gossiping guests and keeping their fraying covers intact.

Beneath the overwhelming floral haze of the roses drifted a familiar waft of scent. The same heavy perfume their hostess had worn last night, stronger now— A memory from Karm, a tiny glass bottle that had glinted in the dark, filled with oily black liquid. _For when you want the job done quickly and it doesn’t matter if you leave a trace_ , his father had said. _Sometimes, leaving a trail to follow is in the client’s best interests, as long as it doesn’t lead back to them_.

Abruptly, he rose. The source was close if he could smell it through the flowers. He shoved away from the table with a clatter, ignoring Siete’s question, Siete’s hand plucking at his sleeve, the muffled gasps and curious stares the other guests shot his way. With a poison like that, she would need only an opportune moment.

The guards reached him just as he found her, tipping a few drops into her father’s tea cup. The besotted boyfriend offered the perfect distraction, engaged in lively conversation while she measured out death, entirely unaware of the part he played in what would be murder. Patricide.

The watch he wore, leather and gold and gleaming crystal, clearly a gift from his lover, reeked. The investigation would find him guilty without any trouble at all. All neatly wrapped up, a criminal behind bars, the new heir terribly bereaved and grieving but with the reins of the whole skydom held tightly in her fist.

Six rolled his eyes, sent the guards tripping into a pile with a flurry of quick strikes, and caught the would-be-murderess by the wrist before she could get rid of the evidence.

***

“Hey, Six, you know how you asked why I didn’t want anyone else on the mission?”

Back on the Grancypher, blissfully restored to his cloak and armor and his weapons back in their proper places, Six looked up from cleaning his gauntlets and gave Siete a wary stare.

“You mean someone actually suited to a mission like this?” he demanded flatly. Siete paused a moment with what wasn’t quite chagrin and flicked a hand in agreement.

“Yep, that. I figured even if you hated it, I should still play pretend boyfriend with my actual boyfriend, you know?”

Six’s ears snapped flat back. He stilled, the cloth smearing oil on the sharpest part of his gauntlet’s blade. 

“Like I said,” he growled, “this was genuinely your most idiotic plan ever.”

Siete beamed at him, leaned over, and kissed him right on the mouth of his mask.

“You’re welcome to keep the ring.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Winding Road Home Zine](https://twitter.com/gbf76zine). A great experience, check out the other fantastic artists and writers who participated!
> 
> I'm on twitter at 


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